


War and politics

by Deputychairman



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Finn has a plan, First Time, General Hux is not a good person, Implied/Referenced Torture, Leia has everything else, M/M, Poe Dameron hurts so pretty, Poe is a battlefield flirt, Poe is very brave and would do anything for Leia, Rey and Luke have the Force, here comes the General
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6277288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deputychairman/pseuds/Deputychairman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe turns big dark eyes on him and Finn feels something ache in his chest. “Tell me, Finn, how is that gonna look, buddy? You save my life, we take you in and then we throw you back when it suits us? I wouldn’t fight for a Resistance like that and neither would you.”</p><p>He wants to say, <em>yes I would</em>, but with Poe looking up at him the words die on his lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leia

 

Leia Organa has never been a leader who sends other people out into danger in her place.

She resists the label of legend, but she knows that her name is a famous one, two words that carry weight. When General Organa extends a hand in friendship, many worlds are thinking not of the person she sees in the mirror, the woman with greying hair who stands no taller than your shoulder. They are thinking of Princess Leia as she is in the stories, the rebel leader who brought down an Empire.

They appear not to think of the child she bore and what he did, and if they do, they still come to the table. Maybe that isn’t the sort of story people like to tell. God knows Leia doesn’t.

Not once, in any of the worlds she has visited as leader of the Resistance, has anybody asked about her son. They ask about the future she sees for the weakened Republic, the threat of the First Order, the strength of the Resistance. They talk war and politics, in short. Leia has spent her whole life talking war and politics, and she knows how to respond. More than respond: she knows how to lead and turn the conversation to where she wants it.

Han used to tease her, in those years of peace after the Empire fell, that she couldn’t talk about anything else. When they might have been sitting in the sunshine somewhere, telling each other about music and the lakes of Naboo and the first time you fly through the Taro nebula over Hos, her mind was on import duties and voter registration and battleships.

He knew what he was letting himself in for though, when he’d set up as her consort and stumbled over his words asking if she wanted to have a baby with him.

She was a woman of war and politics then, as she is today.

 

So despite the near-open hostilities with the First Order and the Republic’s unwillingness to take action, Leia travels. She could send people in her place, and sometimes she does: one woman cannot cover the whole galaxy.

But when the outcome matters the most, Leia will go in person.

She can see it makes her entourage nervous.

(She has never thought of them as an entourage: they are her comrades at arms, her officers in the Resistance. It is Poe Dameron, on being asked to pilot yet another diplomatic mission with the same familiar faces, who names her inner circle the Entourage.

 _Wouldn’t you rather be a cabinet? My executive committee?_ she had asked, amused.

 _No,_ he told her. _You’re the star, we’re the entourage, right Finn?_ )

Today they have good reason to be nervous. The only way back from Parix is through the Caleedien system. It’s officially neutral, for now, but as Leia met with the Parixi their intelligence has been reporting sighting after sighting of First Order ships in subspace and First Order troops on planet after planet. It probably won’t be neutral for long.

Poe showed them the starmaps before they left, and the alternative routes were three times as long and not much safer.

So here they are, Poe in the pilot’s seat so focused on his instrument panel and the soft back-and-forth of information he’s getting from the astromech droid he hasn’t said a word in hours.

Finn has moved from the co-pilot seat at Leia’s request, partly to go over her notes from the negotiation with the Parixi, and partly because she can see he is nervous. For once Poe isn’t making conversation to distract him, and Leia isn’t about to ask him to start.

But that leaves Finn jiggling his leg, biting his nails, and watching Poe when he thinks Poe isn’t looking.

 

It’s not the first time she’s noticed him watching Poe, and she can’t say she blames him. They all dress up for these desperate propaganda diplomacy trips, and Finn isn’t the only one to be distracted by how good their pilot looks in his dress uniform. He probably is the only person who doesn’t realise how good he looks in his own, though.

There are a lot of reasons Leia has chosen these two to come with her, and the fact that they’re both very easy on the eye is not at the top of the list. It is _on_ the list though: she isn’t too proud to work all the angles. She knows the impression it makes, when General Organa disembarks from her shuttle flanked by two very beautiful young men. Whether it will be the deciding factor in anybody’s life and death decision to ally with the Resistance against the First Order seems unlikely, but then decisions aren’t always made on the rational grounds of planetary best interest that politicians and generals like to claim they are.

Leia always plays the best hand she possibly can, and so she presents herself in the formal robes of a head of state, a person who will win the war. It also means she travels with a good-looking entourage who listen when she speaks, who look good in uniform but don’t stand like soldiers, and who smile and joke with aides and local people as if the war was already won. Propaganda, perhaps, but propaganda works best when it is basically true.

That’s another reason she brings Finn with her: what better propaganda could there be for the Resistance cause than the Stormtrooper who saved a prisoner’s life and defected? On planet after planet Finn tells his story with limpid sincerity that has lost nothing through repetition, and she is desperately grateful to him for his willingness to do this, over and over again.

She’s pretty sure that when he isn’t flying, Poe is looking right back at Finn. He’s better at not getting caught doing it, but General Organa has spent her whole life around young men in desperate situations, and she’s not fooled. She’s seen Poe’s eyes go soft and the way he bites his lip and doesn’t say anything overt. Why he chooses not to say anything is his own business, and so far it’s always just the right side of plausible deniability. Leia is fond of him, and she doesn’t ask.

 

Poe Dameron is part of her entourage because she can always trust him to say the right thing, in public life as much as in private. He’s also here because he’s far and away her best pilot.

So when three separate sensors start beeping in syncopation, he reacts instantly.

“Yeah, got ‘em,” he tells the droid, flicking switches and slowing to drift velocity to stay concealed behind a small moon. Over his shoulder, he says, “First Order Tie fighters and a transport. It’s small, could be an officer’s ship. I’m gonna see if they pass.”

Their little ship is as heavily armed as its size permits, but a firefight so far from home is always a last resort. If he can keep out of sight, he will.

Leia and Finn both rise to stand behind him, watching the three ships approach.

“Don’t accelerate until I say, BB-8,” he murmurs. “They might not have seen us. Maybe they’re not interested – not _every_ ship in the galaxy is interested in us, right?”

“Quite,” Leia agrees with a smile. “Let’s not flatter ourselves that we’re always the centre of attention.”

Nevertheless, she feels like she’s holding her breath as the ships come closer and closer to the moon.

“Finn, stand by on the guns just in case,” Poe says, and Finn slips into the gunner’s seat on the other side of the cabin.

Leia takes the co pilot chair and watches as the ships approach. They appear to be heading for the planet their moon orbits, glowing a dull green above them. Or they could be heading straight towards her ship.

“We can’t hide here,” she decides. “They’re going to see us any second now, if they haven’t already. Get moving, let’s aim for 'purposeful but not panicked,' alright?”

Poe nods and re-engages the engines, and just as he does, the first blaster fire flashes to starboard.

“Well, they’ve seen us,” he mutters, accelerating as fast as the ship will go.

“And they aren’t interested in finding out who they’re shooting at. Can we outrun them?”

Poe shakes his head grimly. “Not a chance.”

Another shot flashes past them, before a third clips the little ship’s underbelly. It shakes with the impact, and Leia braces herself on the dashboard as alarms wail.

“Shut off the noise, BB-8,” snaps Poe. “I already know they hit us.”

Their three pursuers have spread out, leaving them no choice but to maintain their course towards the planet.

Behind her, Finn is returning fire.

“Gotcha!” he cries, but despite the clear scorch mark on its hull the ship he has hit keeps pace with its companions. Finn grunts in frustration, keeps firing.

Another shot clips them. Leia is braced for it, but Poe is almost thrown out of his seat. The alarms start up again.

 

The planet is right in front of them now.

 

“I’m gonna take us down to the planet surface!” Poe calls back over noise of the impact alarm. “We’ll have a better chance of losing them there, and if we can’t then we can try to land and hide out somewhere. Okay sir?”

“Do it,” Leia orders. She doesn’t like the sound of hiding out on the planet, but it’s got to be better than being blown to pieces up here. If anyone can lose these ships, it’s Poe Dameron.

 

As they enter the atmosphere, another noise sounds from the dashboard.

“They’re hailing us,” Poe says. “They spend 10 clicks shooting at us and now they want to talk?”

“Any chance they know who we are?” Leia asks. She has a sinking feeling that they are being herded deliberately down to the surface.

“The Parixi might have told them,” Finn says.

“Well, let’s find out,” Leia decides, leaning forwards to accept the transmission. Talking is usually better than shooting. Not always, but most times.

When she hears the voice on the other end, she realises this isn’t one of those times.

 

“This is General Hux of the First Order,” he says, and Leia feels her blood turn to ice. “General Organa, I have something to discuss with you.”

“Do you open all your conversations by chasing people through space and shooting at them?” she retorts. “Because as things stand, I’m not feeling that you’ve established the basic trust necessary for a constructive discussion to take place.”

“No, I can see that,” Hux replies. “But I prefer to always conduct my negotiations from a position of strength.”

Leia looks up to meet Poe Dameron’s gaze. He makes a gesture of asking permission, and she nods at him.

“There’s position of strength and then there’s ‘land so we can shoot you more easily’ and you know what, this sounds like the second one,” he says.

“You’ll just have to take my word for it that it isn’t,” Hux says. “General Organa, I have a proposition for you regarding the person you used to know as Ben Solo.”

 

Leia can’t help the thump her heart gives at hearing her son’s name in this man’s mouth, but she can control her reactions. No one will hear Leia Organa’s voice shake, and the only person to see her knuckles go white as she clenches her fist is Poe Dameron at her side, who will never tell a soul.

“Keep flying,” she mutters to Poe. “Try and lose them in the cloud but land if you have to. Finn, keep shooting. We’re not just going to roll over and make this easy for them.”

Finn’s face is grimly serious, but Poe flashes her a grin and she _loves_ him for it.

“Yes, sir!” he says, and pulls their ship into the most sickening dive she has ever experienced, which from the woman who flew with Han Solo for 30 years is really saying something.

 

When he levels up they have come through the clouds and are speeding terrifyingly close to the planet’s surface. It looks survivable: rocky hills giving way to plains of grass and scrub. It’s all she can make out at this speed.

For a second she thinks he’s done it, they’ve lost their pursuers with the sheer audacity of his flying.

Then she hears the shrill of the proximity alarm, and Poe’s soft, “Fuck,” and a second later she feels the ship shudder as the blast hits them.

With any other pilot at the helm they would probably have lost control, but Poe manages to drag the ship out of its downward spin to limp along for another few clicks before even he has to admit defeat.

“We’re going down,” he says flatly, not taking his eyes off the dashboard.

It’s the only warning he has time to give before they crash.

 

***

 

It’s one of the best crashes Leia has been in, actually. They all walk away from it, and even the ship looks repairable, if they had a full team of mechanics and spare parts and weren’t being hunted by General Hux and the First Order, that is. But it seems unfair to judge a technically impeccable crash on their unfortunate circumstances, especially when Poe is so pleased with it.

“You see that?” he crows to Finn as he shuts off the damage alarms. Smoke is coming out of one of the panels and Poe has a black smudge across his forehead. “That was even better than last time I crash landed with you under heavy fire! You bring me luck, buddy!”

“Any time you need me, I’ll be there,” Finn grins back.

Watching them, Leia feels terribly old: they are both so delighted with each other it’s as if they can forget what’s going to happen, even if it’s just for a moment.

 

She doesn’t want to burst their bubble, and when the comms panel beeps with another incoming transmission she doesn’t have to. They all know who it is.

 

Poe silently presses the switch to accept the transmission, and sits back to let Leia speak. She doesn’t look around, but she knows Finn has come to stand behind them.

“General Organa,” says Hux’s voice. It sounds distorted now: their comms must be damaged. “I have your location. If any of you want to make it off this planet alive, it is in your interest to come out here to hear my proposition regarding your son.”

“So tell me your proposition,” Leia snaps. Sometimes she feels she has spent her whole life being talked down to by arrogant men in uniform. “I wouldn’t even waste my time sending a droid for something so vague, let alone get out of my ship and come myself.”

Poe glances at Finn and bless them both, they are almost laughing at her show of scorn.

“You tell him, sir,” Poe mutters.

There is a short pause. Then Hux’s voice says, “Kylo Ren is an unstable fanatic who we both wish to contain. If certain conditions are met, I can offer you the opportunity to do that.”

 

Leia closes her eyes and tells herself it’s the smoke. But she knows it isn’t.

 

It's the swirl of her memories of a baby kicking inside her, the way she never knew that the pain of childbirth is only the first time your child can hurt you. You think it’s over, in an afternoon of clean blood and tears, but that’s only the beginning. She knows that now.

It isn’t Ben who shot them down, but these are the people he has chosen: men who would slit his throat in the dark and ask his mother to do their dirty work. She would choose childbirth a thousand times before she chose this, but of course it isn’t her choice to make. It was Ben’s, and he has made it.

 

She opens her eyes. Poe Dameron is looking at her, and it isn’t because he’s waiting for her reply. He’s waiting for her to see him, to offer support if she will accept it: it’s written in the tilt of his head and his anxious eyes, but he isn’t going to speak before she does. She raises one hand and he nods just once, and leans back.

“That’s an interesting suggestion, General,” Leia says. She has been in war and politics her whole life and she knows her voice is calm. She can hear this man speak of _containing_ her only son, and her voice will be calm when she answers him: not much of an achievement for 40 years of struggle, but right now she’ll take it. “But you’ll forgive me if I find it hard to take at face value.”

“Indeed. But as you have doubtless observed, you don’t have much choice but to come out here and discuss it, do you?”

Dameron reaches out to cut the mike, looking to her for permission before he does it.

 

When she nods, he kills the outgoing sound and says urgently, “Sir, we do have a choice - we’re armed, we can fight. The odds aren’t great but we can call for help, hold them off until someone can reach us - ”

Finn is nodding. His hand rests on the back of Dameron’s chair, not quite touching his shoulder. “Yeah. He wants us alive, we can use that to play for time,” he says.

For a second she considers it. It won’t play out like they hope, of course: not this far from D’Qar and reinforcements. The second Hux sees a ship approach, it will all be over. But she could say yes, make a clean end of it. She looks at their earnest young faces, made strange by the ship’s emergency lights and the smoke, and cannot doubt that they would do it. They’d go down fighting for her. She only has to say the word.

But what kind of leader gives an order like that? Accepts certain death for her people rather than negotiate?

She looks at them, at something just beginning between them, and knows she won't ask them to make a stand here. There is always time for fighting later, when all the other options are exhausted. God knows the other options seem to run out soon enough.

 

She holds Dameron’s gaze until he nods, understanding. He nudges Finn’s hand with his shoulder without even needing to look round.

“What does Hux think I’ll do, do you suppose?” she asks.

It’s a question for Finn, really, but she doesn’t want to make him feel like he’s representing the First Order by directing it at him. He’s chosen to be here with them precisely because he doesn’t think like those people.

But they exchange a look, and it’s Finn who speaks up. “I don’t know much about family - I can’t remember mine, but I thought people did anything for them, don’t they? They’re like, more than your squad or your commander or anything. That’s why we didn’t have them, I guess: if First Order troops can’t have family, Hux must think it’s a powerful thing, mustn’t he?”

“Yes, I suppose he must,” Leia agrees. She can’t say Hux is wrong, either.

“You know, I have like, 12 cousins I don’t even need,” Poe interjects. “You should take my cousins. They can forget your birthday and do better in school than you – have yourself a whole family experience.”

“I couldn’t,” Finn objects, straight-faced. “You already gave me that jacket.”

“Yeah, but you saved my life, I owe you. And it suits you,” Poe tells him, tipping his head back to see Finn and gesturing, as if Finn standing there, not even wearing the jacket in question, proves his point.

Frankly Leia is impressed he can manage to flirt on the battlefield, but he never loses his focus: the second Leia opens her mouth, his eyes are back on her, all attention.

“Alright, so Hux thinks family is important; he probably thinks it is important to _me_. Now let me ask a different question,” she says. “What do _you_ think I will do, Commander Dameron? Do you think I’ll accept a proposition like this? You know me better than Hux.”

He blinks at her, surprised. “Uh,” he begins, and then hesitates. “I have a feeling like there is no right answer here, sir.”

“You’re right, there isn’t. Give me a wrong one then.”

He smiles, because he’s good at smiling in desperate situations. That’s another reason she brings him along to negotiations: she knows his tells, but he hides them very well indeed.

Eventually he shakes his head and says, “I don’t know what you’ll do. Honestly. I wouldn’t like to call it,” he shrugs, smiles again. Softening his words with charm. “Depends what the conditions are. But you’re not asking us because you don’t know, are you?”

 

She folds her hands in her lap, adjusts the ring on her finger. Han gave it to her, 20 years ago now. _Here – found something you might like,_ he’d said, kissing the top of her head and pressing a cold box into her hand. Gifts made him uncomfortable, and he hadn’t stayed to watch her open it.

It’s impractical, but she wears that ring a lot now.

Leia turns it round and round on her finger and looks at Poe. She isn’t trying to stare him down, but it might feel like that from where he’s sitting.

 

“No, I’m not. I know what to do,” she says, thumbing the channel back open again.

 

This isn’t about family. It’s about war and politics, and if Hux thinks he is dealing with Ben Solo’s grieving mother then goddammit Leia Organa will use that against him while there is breath still in her body.

 


	2. Finn

 

Finn shivers in the cold wind and feels horribly exposed as the ramp retracts behind them. He isn’t used to weather and wide open spaces, and this planet with its bare plains stretching away into the horizon is nothing but. In the distance, a plume of black smoke is blown upwards to meet the edge of the cloud.

Poe doesn’t look any more comfortable than he is. He has his arms wrapped around himself before he remembers to put up a front and drops them, standing in a self-conscious parody of his usual relaxed self. He shoots a rueful smile at Finn when he sees him watching.

“Yeah ok, maybe I am kinda nervous about this,” he admits.

Finn will never forget the look of terrified, desperate defiance on Poe’s face when he broke him out of the interrogation room on the Finalizer. He doesn’t look like that now, but he’s probably remembering it too.

“Good,” says General Organa. “Anyone walking into this who isn’t a little bit afraid is a fool. I didn’t want you with me because you’re fearless, but because I know I can trust you to make good decisions even when you’re afraid.”

Poe grins at him and throws an arm around his shoulders, leans into him. Whether it’s to take or offer comfort Finn can’t tell.

“No pressure or anything,” he says.

General Organa holds out a hand to each of them. Poe takes it without hesitation, and after a second Finn copies him. Generals offering him their hands is not something he knows how to react to, but following Poe’s lead in these things has done him well so far.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

“Hell no,” says Poe. “But let’s do it anyway. Finn? You good?”

“Hell no,” Finn echoes. “But yeah, let’s do it.”

The way Poe and General Organa smile at him almost makes it worth it.

“That’s my boys,” she says, squeezing their hands. “Let’s find out what these conditions are.”

 

***

 

General Hux is waiting for them in a white stone meeting hall with scorch marks on the walls and all the plexiglas blown out of the windows. It crunches underfoot until they reach clear ground at the open centre of the space.

The electric smell of blaster fire still hangs in the air. Finn can’t see casualties, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Whoever the local people are, they didn’t stand a chance against the First Order.

 

It’s clear who has been firing: Hux stands with nine Stormtroopers and a figure Finn recognises instantly as Captain Phasma.

He can’t repress the shudder that runs through him at the sight of them, and while General Organa has all her attention on the group in front of them, Poe is right beside him and doesn’t miss a thing. His warm hand reaches out to squeeze Finn’s where no one will see.

“You’re okay, buddy,” he murmurs under his breath so that only Finn can hear him. “You’re with us now.”

Seeing as there are only three of them that shouldn’t be remotely reassuring, and yet somehow it is.

Finn flashes him a grateful smile and squeezes his hand in return. He doesn’t really want to let go, but he and Poe are the entourage. General Organa’s entourage can’t look scared, even when they have every reason to be.

He pulls his shoulders back and releases Poe’s hand.

 

“General Organa,” says Hux, stepping forward.

She takes three slow steps towards him. Finn hadn’t paid any attention to her shoes before now, but whatever she’s wearing she manages to make a satisfyingly imposing sound with every pace. Finn grew up with images of power: he knows when someone is doing it well.

“General Hux,” she replies. “Let’s get to the point. You want something from me: sell it to me. Why would I do what you want?”

Hux’s face does something that Finn supposes must be a smile, if smiles were designed to express contempt.

“Because I want the same thing you want: your son out of the First Order. I have no time for Jedi mysticism and fanaticism; you want him back. We have a common interest, General Organa.”

General Organa holds the eye contact and holds the eye contact until Hux grimaces and continues, “Your ship is disabled; I will summon Ren to this planet and allow to you bring sufficient forces to destroy or capture his incoming transport. I leave that up to you, how you wish to deal with him, but he will not be expecting attack.”

General Organa stands before him, tiny and regal, and Finn can almost see the anger crackling from her, as if her hair was giving off sparks.

“Truly you are a man of honour, General,” she says. Her voice is acid.

“My goals are too important to be derailed by one unstable element within,” Hux says. “Your judgement is irrelevant. Either you accept, or we will shoot you down here and now. The choice is yours.”

“Choice at gunpoint is no choice at all,” she tells him, head held high. “Let’s call things by their true names, shall we, General Hux?

“I think it is. The second you are out of my sight, I have no way to compel you to do as I wish. So to seal our bargain, I require one of you to remain with me as a guarantee of compliance. To be returned as and when you uphold your side of the deal, of course.”

General Organa laughs. A hollow, mocking sound that Finn has never heard her make before: she has always seemed kind, to him: with all the power she commands, all her history, he has never seen her treat anybody with anything less than consummate respect. Hux seems to be the exception.

“Of course, General Hux. They will be returned; you are giving me your word, and I believe you. Because when a man turns to his enemy to take down his comrade, his word is his bond.”

A muscle clenches in Hux’s jaw. “My word is all you will have: you either accept these conditions, or you all die here. Either way I remove one of my enemies; I am offering you the choice of which.”

General Organa inclines her head in a parody of a bow.

“We are honoured by your generosity,” she spits, and turns on her heel to face Finn and Poe.

“A moment please, gentlemen,” she says.

 

Behind her, Hux makes a cold sound of derision.

“Ah, the common deserter and the pilot who broke,” he drawls. “I see the Resistance accepts only the best.”

General Organa’s face twists in anger but she doesn’t turn or gratify him with a response. It’s Poe who remarks, with a smile that’s all teeth, “And isn’t it just eating you up inside that the two of us escaped from under the nose of your whole army? I bet it is.”

 

General Organa draws them back with her through the broken plexiglas to stand beside a scorched pillar, where they have the illusion of privacy. She barely reaches to his shoulder, and Finn is horribly aware that if it came down to a raw physical fight now, she would be the most vulnerable. He’d do it if she gave the word, but he knows she isn’t going to.

He understands why as well, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

“Alright, as soon as I leave with them, you need to get my brother and Rey. Commander, I’m putting you in charge until I get back - ”

Poe is already shaking his head. He doesn’t like this any more than Finn does; every line of his body is tense, poised for action, not this uneasy truce of convenience.

“Uh-uh, no, no way, sir. It can’t be you. If you go, we’re _over._ The Resistance is over. I know you don’t like it, but you’re the legend that keeps this thing together.”

She lets go of Finn’s arm to argue with Poe, and that’s a new thing for him too, a General willing to engage her subordinate in debate. They don’t look like a chain of command right now: they are standing very close, General Organa gazing up at Poe as she squeezes both of his hands. His eyes never leave her face. This is _worse_ for him than the Finalizer, Finn thinks. There he only had his own life to lose.

“Every movement has to survive a transition to a new leader, Poe,” she says urgently. “This can’t be some, some – cult of personality! If everyone is just here for me, then I’d _rather_ it all fell apart.”

“Oh yeah? You want the First Order walking all over us because you don’t want the job any more? Bullshit!”

Poe’s desperation is palpable.

“I don’t want to turn into a symbol that people follow when they ought to be thinking for themselves! For the Resistance to survive, it has to be about so much more than me – it _is_ about more than me,” Leia tells him. Appealing to Finn, she reaches out to physically pull him back into the conversation. “Finn, you tell him! Finn isn’t here because of me. Are you?”

 

Finn hesitates. He sort of is, but that’s not the right answer here. And General Organa isn’t waiting for his reply anyway – this is between her and Poe. Again she lets go of Finn’s sleeve to turn back to him.

 

“Finn’s here because he knows that what they want to do is wrong and he wants no part of it,” she continues before he has a chance to speak. “And actually, when it really comes down to it, he’s here because of _you_ , Poe Dameron,” she jabs an accusing finger into his chest and he takes half a step back in surprise, “So don’t you tell me the Resistance needs _me_ as a damn figurehead!”

Finn wants to deny everything she’s just said, but he can’t because it’s _true_ , damn her it’s true. He is here because of Poe and if he tries to deny it she’ll leave, she’ll hand herself over to the First Order.

And anyway, Poe’s already denying it for him.

“It does. It _does_ , Leia, we _do_ need you.” Finn knew that the General was more than just a commanding officer to Poe, and that she allowed him more leeway than almost anybody else, but hearing him use her first name is still a shock. “Someday you’ll pick a successor, and you’ll have someone better than me to hand over to when you do – I’ll find you a whole _team_ who can take over, if you want - but it can’t be now! Not after what everyone’s just lost!”

“But I’ll be back, Poe. This is a question of a day at most - ”

He’s even more shocked to hear Poe dare to raise his voice and actually cut her off.

“No you _won’t!_ You don’t believe you’ll come back from this any more than I do. You don’t think for a second they’ll let you go if they get hold of you, do you?” He sounds hoarse, like he’s been yelling for hours, or crying.

The smile she gives him is almost sad.

“Which is exactly why it has to be me,” she says gently.

 

And then, horribly, Poe drops to his knees in front of her.

 

“No,” he says. “No it isn’t. That’s why it has to be _me_ , Leia - ”

Finn has stood there like a spare part so far, unwilling to intrude on something so clearly as much about the bond between the two of them as about military strategy, but at this he cannot remain silent.

“No it doesn’t have to be you! I should go.” Appealing to General Organa, he continues: “He’s a pilot, he’s your second in command, he’s got information about the Resistance – you don’t actually need me...”

But there on his damn knees, Poe is holding all of her attention. Finn has to admire his sense of drama if not his sense of self-preservation.

 

“Oh get up, Dameron! Finn, make him get up!” She’s holding Poe’s hands again and trying to urge him to his feet.

“I won’t, I’m gonna to stay here and be melodramatic until you agree that it can’t be you and it can’t be Finn. How would that look in the propaganda?” Poe turns big dark eyes on him and Finn feels something ache in his chest. “Tell me, Finn, how is that gonna look, buddy? You save my life, we take you in and then we throw you back when it suits us? I wouldn’t fight for a Resistance like that and neither would you.”

He wants to say, _yes I would_ , but with Poe looking up at him the words die on his lips.

Because Poe is right, of course. He wouldn’t. They all know he wouldn’t. That’s exactly what he ran away from, from people who would throw you away because it’s convenient, to save themselves. He’s been cannon fodder once and he knows that’s not what he is now, not to General Organa and especially not to Poe.

 

“Leia, you know I’m right,” Poe pleads. “You brought me along because you said you trusted my decisions and I’m making one now: it has to be me because it can’t be you and it can’t be Finn, okay? Tell him it can’t be him.”

She looks over at Finn.

“It _can_ be me,” he protests, stepping forward, trying to show with his whole body that he’s ready to do this. “I volunteer!”

But she’s already shaking her head. A low orange sun has broken through the clouds and catches her earrings so that two points of light dance as she says no.

“You know it has to be me, Leia,” Poe insists when she turns back to him.

And Finn is waiting for her to say _no, no it doesn’t_. He’s still waiting for her to have another plan, for none of them to have to go, and any moment now she’ll say it.

But she doesn’t say anything at all. She steps forward and throws her arms around Poe, right there on his knees, and he lets her do it. He reaches up to hug her back, closes his eyes and leans in to her like a child as she pulls him close. His cheek is pressed against her stomach and one of her hands comes to stroke his hair, just once.

It’s not until that moment that Finn truly appreciates what is about to happen. Poe is going to go with General Hux and Captain Phasma, and there’s a very good chance that they will never see him again.

 

When Poe gets to his feet his knees are dusty and he is half smiling.

Finn doesn’t know how he can be anywhere near smiling, but he is. Smiling and serious at the same time, because he knows exactly what he’s offering. The last time he found a personal saviour: perhaps he thinks he will find another one. If anybody can charm Stormtroopers into defecting it is Poe Dameron, but it isn’t just Stormtroopers waiting for him, it’s General Hux.

Finn’s still shaking his head when Poe steps right up into his space and takes his face with both hands.

 

That should have given him a clue, but where he’s from people don’t get a chance to say goodbye and when Poe leans in to kiss him he gasps in surprise and opens his mouth before he knows what he’s doing.

Poe deepens the kiss for just a second, so briefly that afterwards Finn isn’t even sure it happened, and then he pulls back and his hands drop to Finn’s shoulders.

They blink at each other. Finn can’t breathe. It is _unbearable_ that one of the two people in the galaxy he has ever tried to save has just kissed him like an apology and is about to walk away.

Poe bites his lip. “Ok. Right. Listen, I shouldn’t have done that, so you have to come get me so you can kick my ass for it, ok?”

All Finn can find to say is, “Yeah. I will.” He doesn’t trust his voice to say anything more. He feels like he’s choking.

 

As they walk out to meet Hux he wishes he had taken his chance to hug Poe too, feel him in his arms just once with that kiss at the front of his mind, but the moment has passed.

General Organa walks between the two of them, and Hux wheels round to sneer at them when he hears them approach.

“Commander Dameron has volunteered to go with you,” General Organa says.

 

Poe steps forward, just one step, and Finn sees him square his shoulders and take a deep breath before he carries on and crosses the space between him and Hux. He has his hands in his pockets, and there’s nothing military about the way he’s walking: if Finn had to pick a verb, he might call it _sauntering_. Finn isn’t fooled for a second, but as a show of disdain it is impeccable.

Hux doesn’t move, just watches him come.

It’s Phasma who steps forward to receive him. She towers above him and when Poe looks up at her Finn feels General Organa’s hand on his arm.

“We aren’t leaving him there, Finn. Let him go now, and I _swear_ to you I will bring him back,” she whispers. Her fingers dig in so tight it is almost painful, and he holds onto that point of pain, anything to distract him.

 

Phasma produces binders that close around Poe’s wrists with a soft hiss, and while Finn watches, appalled, General Organa steps forward.

She crosses the empty chamber towards Hux, head held high and every footstep ringing out on the marble floor. The slanted light is still pouring through the empty windows, and again those earrings at her throat flash as she walks.

When she reaches him, Hux flinches.

 

“You know who this is,” she says, gesturing at Poe without breaking eye contact. “He is my second in command and the child of my old comrade in arms, and if you touch a hair on his head you will answer for it. Do we understand each other?”

Hux tries to stare her down, but General Organa obviously has more practice in staring down arrogant men. She doesn’t waver even for a second, and Hux is the first to look away.

Finally he nods at her. “We understand each other, General Organa,” he says.

It’s not exactly a promise, but Finn wouldn’t have believed a promise from Hux anyway, not for a second.

As they walk away, Phasma with a hand tight on Poe’s arm, he looks back over his shoulder at Finn and winks.

Finn can’t even find it in him to be ashamed of the break in his voice when he says, “You need to get him back so I can kill him, okay?”

“You have my word, Finn,” says General Organa. “You have my word.”

 

 


	3. Poe

Poe doesn’t know where they’re taking him and he isn’t about to ask.

He’s keeping an eye out for landmarks, any distinguishing feature on this cold plain that could help him find his bearings if he ever managed to get away, but that’s more to keep himself occupied than any real belief in escape. Besides, he has to give General Organa time to sort things out before he tries anything.

The smoke they could see on landing still rises to his right, and as the Stormtroopers lead the way uphill a burning field comes into view. He isn’t sure what the dark shapes on the ground amid the flames are, but he has a horrible feeling they might be people.

There is no birdsong, no hum of insects, just the faint crackle of fire.

 

Phasma doesn’t let go of him for what feels like a long time, and when she does, to push him in front of her down a narrow track between rocks, he almost starts running just to piss her off.

Instead says over his shoulder, “You can hold onto me if you like, I don’t mind. Some people think it’s needy to want physical contact, but I don’t buy that.”

She doesn’t answer.

Well, fine. That’s not all he’s got. He’s got to say _something_ , anything to take his mind off those shapes in the fire.

After a moment he adds, “Hey, that’s a smart uniform you’ve got there.”

He meant the remark for Phasma, but in front of him, Hux half turns and Poe knows an opportunity when he sees one.

“Finn says the Stormtrooper outfit really chafes – it makes a statement, don’t get me wrong, but if the guy on the ground is getting blisters from the body armour, his mind isn’t on the job. Maybe we go too far the other way, in the Resistance, we don’t care enough about the look – I mean the flight suit I usually wear is _orange_. It looks okay on me, but other people complain.”

Phasma and Hux both ignore him, so he continues, “We dressed up today though, diplomatic trip and everything. You know, I’ve had this thing for nearly 10 years now. What do you think, does it still fit ok? The cut’s not as sharp as yours, but we’re going for a different aesthetic anyway, so - ”

He thinks he sees Hux’s jaw clench and keeps going. With his hands bound he has to concentrate to keep his footing on the loose stone underfoot, but this kind of talk he can do in his sleep. It’s not Stormtrooper armour but it serves the same purpose: concealment, protection. Poe knows who he is underneath, but he’s damned if he’s going to show anything real to these people - they get the shiny flyboy facade and nothing else, not if he can help it.

“Now you guys, you must spend a lot on tailoring, am I right?” he continues. “Just between us, how much of your budget goes on uniform? You know, design, production, laundry – all of it?”

Hux does turn this time. He stops, and a few steps behind him on the narrow path, Poe stops too.

He _could_ stop talking, but why would he do that just when it’s starting to work?

“You need to check the figures? Yeah don’t worry about it, I never remember the budget stuff either - I’m more of a big picture guy. So you delegate the finances, yeah?”

Phasma’s footsteps don’t even slow and Poe has to steel himself not to turn around as she comes right up behind him. Hux takes a step back down the path towards him and for one heartbeat of pure panic Poe thinks they’re going to shoot him right here, that it’s all over already, this dusty track is where he’s going to die.

Instead Phasma grabs him by the hair and pulls hard. He stumbles backwards into her and would have fallen if she wasn’t holding him up, head tilted back painfully as Hux leans in and deigns to look at him. In this position the two of them tower over him even more than usual but he refuses to feel intimidated: if he’s scared, they are never, ever going to know it. Maybe his heart is thumping so hard he can feel his own pulse in his fingers, but he has a good poker face and his smart mouth has never let him down yet.

“Touched a nerve? Money’s tight this year? Let me guess: the Starkiller was expensive, right?”

Hux makes a face like there’s a bad taste in his mouth and leans right in close. His eyes are very pale blue and Poe can see his almost blond eyelashes. He concentrates on not giving in to panic, keeping his breathing even, but the stare is just as intimidating as Hux obviously means it to be.

“Shut. Up,” he says.

With the breastplate from Phasma’s armour digging into his shoulder and Hux’s hand on his blaster, Poe manages to resist saying _make me_ , but it’s a struggle.

He can’t move his head to nod so he just blinks slowly and raises his bound hands, fingers spread, to say, _ok, ok. I’ll play nice_.

He doesn’t mean it though. They aren’t going to play nice with him, after all.

 

When a collection of low buildings with the First Order ships beside them comes into view through the rising dark a couple of minutes later, Poe asks:

“Hey, one more question: do you get vacation time?”

Neither of them answers him.

“Because I wanted to ask, we do, you see, there’s a pretty generous vacation allowance in the Resistance, and I promised I’d take Finn somewhere. Vacation time was a deal breaker for him, you should consider offering it, seriously – but I don’t know where I should take him. You’ve known him for longer - ” this he addresses to Phasma behind him. “Where do you think he’d like to go? He says he never learned to swim, so somewhere warm, with water, and trees, I was thinking. Which rules out _here_ , but - ”

Hux stops and wheels around.

He doesn’t even get his hands dirty knocking Poe down: he makes a sign to Phasma and she does it.

As he spits blood into dry grass, Poe thinks, _well you’re not going anywhere with Finn now, are you, hotshot?_ And if he’s losing everything he wanted, he’s savagely glad that at least he made Hux angry. At least he’ll feel _something_ when he has someone shoot Poe in the back of the head.

 

His split lip doesn’t bleed for long, but he can hear it thickening his voice next time he speaks and he hates it.

Phasma grabs him by the collar and half drags him into the building with them.

Inside are six more Stormtroopers and clear signs that someone else usually inhabits this space. He assumes nobody expected to be here today: the First Order was following him, after all, and he didn’t expect to be here. So either they’ve killed everybody or scared them off, but however they did it, no one from this planet is around. He doesn’t even know what the inhabitants look like or what species they are.

Phasma obviously doesn’t trust him around Stormtroopers, and he wishes he could tell Finn. _Look at what you did!_ _They’ve got thousands of troops and sixteen who could do the job here, but because of you they’re guarding me themselves!_ He thinks Finn would be pretty proud of that. He ought to be, anyway.

They’ve set up in a room with comms panels and a low table with benches at humanoid height, but Phasma kicks Poe’s feet out from under him so he goes down hard on the stone floor, unable to break his fall with the binders on his wrists.

“Yeah I’m fine down here, thanks for asking,” he says, wincing, and she turns back to him, hand raised.

“Ok! Ok! You’ll be bored in a minute, but if you’re sure that’s what you want I won’t talk to you!” he says. He’s getting sick of holding his hands up apologetically to these people. He doesn’t _feel_ apologetic. He feels pretty desperate, actually, if he thinks about it.

So the best thing to do is try not to think about it. He volunteered for this and now he’s got to take it, because if he wasn’t here getting knocked about, then Finn or General Organa would be.

 

Instead he gets as comfortable as he can on the floor and tries to wriggle his hand out of the binders.

Phasma has put them on over the sleeves of his uniform jacket, so once he manages to work the fabric out of the way on his left wrist, he’s got a little bit of space to play with. He does it slowly, because there are eight people in this room with him, but for the price of a bit of skin on the heel of his left hand he gets it halfway free before General Hux decides he wants to make conversation after all.

“Who are your parents?” he asks abruptly, skipping the whole getting-to know-you conversation part that usually comes before you ask a stranger who their parents are.

“What?” Poe says.

“The child of her old comrade in arms, she said. So who are your parents?”

Poe grins savagely at him.

“They won the war with a baby in the back of the plane,” he says. He almost gestures at himself to make it clear who he means, but remembers the half-removed binder just in time and keeps his hands still in his lap. “Why, who were yours? Vader apologists, huh? Took the fall of the Empire hard?”

Hux stares at him with those pale eyes.

“What were their names?” he demands.

“Listen, pal, if this is an interrogation you get my name, rank and serial number and that’s it, ok? And if you want to talk about my family tree and where I went to school and when I lost my virginity, you can come sit here with me on the floor and have a conversation, otherwise it’s Dameron, Poe; Commander; 205847.”

For a second he imagines Hux actually doing it: unbending that stiff military posture, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him and starting to talk about his family, his first lover, his dog that died when he was nine. It helps him keep the provocative smile on his face when Hux replies,

“Last time we interrogated you we got a lot more than that out of you though, didn’t we, Commander Dameron? I hear you gave it all up, in the end. I hear you broke into a thousand tiny pieces, and begged Ren to stop.”

Poe licks his dry lips and tastes blood. It feels like there is a stone in his chest. His heart is beating too fast.

“Yeah, and you still never found my droid, so I came to terms with it,” he manages. No conscious thought went into his words: he’s back there, held down and helpless and having everything he wanted to protect ripped out of him.

“Then perhaps we should try again. I don’t need Force mind tricks to get what I want out of you,” Hux says, getting to his feet. “The traditional methods work just as well when you know how to use them, and believe me: I know how to use them.”

Poe only just suppresses his flinch as Hux looms over him: he already has his back to the wall so there’s nowhere he can go anyway.

 

Mercifully an electronic alert from the comms panel interrupts them.

“Sir,” calls one of the Stormtroopers. “Lord Ren’s ship has entered the system. 10 hours until it makes orbit.”

Hux beckons the nearest Stormtrooper over. “Watch him, closely,” he tells the soldier before addressing the first one again, “Open a secure channel at the station though there,” he says, striding out of the room, his feet ringing on the marble floor.

Poe blinks up at the Stormtrooper looking down at him, and tries to imagine a man like Finn behind the mask. Someone who hates what they are doing but can’t see a way out.

If he could be Finn’s way out, who’s to say he can’t be someone else’s too?

“Hi,” he tries, and gets no answer. Not that he thought it would be that easy.

“What’s your name? I’m Poe, nice to meet you,” he continues, dragging up a smile that probably isn’t one of his better efforts. His voice is hoarse. “Hey, I was wondering, did you know my buddy Finn when he worked with you guys? FN 2187, he was called back then. No?”

The Stormtrooper appears to be watching him, but still gives no answer. Probably more than his life is worth, to be caught talking to the prisoner. But if one Stormtrooper can decide to save his life, then it’s always possible another one will. Not likely, though: one Finn in the galaxy is miraculous enough without asking for two.

Poe carries on anyway.

“I guess there are a lot of you. You don’t all know each other, huh? Same in the Resistance, I don’t know everyone. I mean I know a lot of people - and it’s easier because we don’t do the whole thing with the masks - but not everyone.”

He pauses: nothing.

“So, uh, where are you from originally?” he continues. Stick to the classics: _where are you from, what are you doing here._ “You join up to see the galaxy?”

Cold from the floor is seeping into his bones and he shifts, using the movement to mask a further minute shift of the binders off his left wrist. It’s going to bleed a lot if it goes.

He looks up in surprise when trooper announces: “FN 2187 is a traitor.”

Even an unpromising statement like that is better than silence. It gives him something to work with.

“Nah, he just quit,” Poe tells him. “Everyone can quit their job, you know. I could quit tomorrow. Maybe I should. Go into something safer.”

He pauses to see if the trooper will take the bait, tell him the Resistance is doomed to fail.

When there is no answer, he continues in a conversational tone he is really having to work at:

“But like I was telling your General, the Resistance treats us pretty well. My co-workers are great. Pay’s not so good, but we get food and lodging so I don’t spend it all anyway, and we have great vacation time. Hey, you could help me out there – where would an ex Stormtrooper like to go on vacation? Where would _you_ like to go? Gimme a couple ideas, and I’ll run them by Finn when I get back - ” _that’s it,_ he tells himself _. Make plans for when you get back, you’ve got to keep thinking like that, ok?_

The trooper turns his back on him.

 _Well be like that then_ , thinks Poe, and starts trying to work his hand out of the binder again.

 

It’s only a few minutes before Hux sweeps back in. It must be really tiring spending a lot of time with him because he doesn’t just walk in, he makes an _entrance_ and startles everybody.

He strides right back to stand over Poe, exerting every petty advantage he has by coming up so close Poe has to tip his head back to look him in the face or sit there staring at his crotch. He chooses the former.

“All going well stabbing your buddy in the back?” he asks.

Hux says nothing, just takes a holo image of Poe sitting there on the floor before he has a chance to compose himself and tosses the device to the closest trooper.

“Transmit that to Lord Ren,” he orders.

“Did I look ok?” Poe asks. “You should have let me wipe the blood off my face, if he’s coming all this way for me. Or does he go for that?”

Hux’s jaw clenches.

“Weren’t you and me going to do an interrogation thing?” Poe continues. “Because I was thinking, instead of doing that all over again, we should just get to know each other. What do you think? We must be about the same age, you and me, both got a military background – people always say know your enemy, and when are we gonna get another chance like this, with ten hours to kill?” He pulls his knees up a little higher to hide the binder that’s wedged on the heel of his hand.

“You forget, after last time we already know everything we need to know from you, Commander.”

“Nah you don’t. You don’t know who my parents are, and I don’t even know your first name. Or do your friends call you General? What about your close friends?” Poe winks to make it clear what he’s implying, “How about _really_ close friends?”

Hux fixes him with an impassive stare.

“You know she isn’t coming back for you, don’t you, Commander Dameron?” he says.

It is so close to what Poe has been thinking that for a moment it doesn’t even register. Like a knife so sharp you don’t feel it cut you.

He shrugs. He doesn’t know if it would be better to display blind faith in his General or act like he knows he’s going to die here and doesn’t care. When he speaks it feels like there is a hole inside him, like it’s stealing every breath he takes.

“We’ll see,” he offers. “It’s usually a bad idea to think you know what General Organa is going to do.”

“I’ll tell you what she’s going to do,” Hux says, a thin smile on his face. “She’s going to go after Kylo Ren, and either kill or capture him or die trying. And you are going to die here, Commander Dameron, because she isn’t coming back for you. I’m sure she appreciates you - ” here he looks Poe up and down significantly, “but not enough to miss her chance to bring her son home.”

He sounds almost bored. Poe doesn’t think he’s ever hated anybody more in his whole life than he hates this man.

“You know what I think?” he drawls, tipping his head back and trying to telegraph disdain with every fibre of his being. “I think you’re projecting. I think maybe it’s you who _appreciates_ me - ”

 

That, apparently, is General Hux’s breaking point.

 

His face twitches like he’s struggling for control, and then in one swift movement he is leaning in to grab Poe by the collar. Which is when he notices the binder Poe has been working off his hand.

It’s not like Poe is cooperating, but he finds himself hauled to his feet as Hux hisses at the room in general, “Why is the prisoner removing his own binders?”

The Stormtroopers freeze before two step forward to grab him.

“Re-do these!” he snarls. “Get his jacket off and fasten them tighter. I don’t care if he loses his hands, just make sure he can’t get loose!”

He gets one arm tight around Poe’s neck, holding him still like he would really attempt a breakout in a room full of armed men. It’s almost flattering.

The troopers take off the binders and then they’re yanking at the buttons on his uniform jacket, roughly pulling it off him.

“You wanted me to take my clothes off you could have just asked me yourself,” Poe manages, breathless against the arm around his throat. “We’ve got 10 hours to wait and nothing better to do, maybe I woulda gone for it.”

Hux makes a sound like a repressed growl and slams him face down on the table, hand hard on the back of Poe’s neck. A small voice in his head that sounds a lot like General Organa says, _now would probably be a good time to shut the hell up, Dameron_ , but he’s never been very good at taking advice.

It’s hard to breathe with Hux holding him down with his full body weight, and Poe is about to ask him if he works out or something stupid and provocative like that when Hux shifts, grinds into him, and he realises with a shudder of revulsion that this isn’t just a wind-up game they’re playing: maybe it’s the violence or the power trip at holding someone face down and at his mercy that does it for him, but Hux is _hard_ against him. That’s Hux’s erection against Poe’s ass and two Stormtroopers are pinning his arms to refasten the binders and he _can’t move_.

 _No no no_ , he thinks, skin crawling as he lashes out with his feet, giving into the panic just for a second before savagely restraining himself. His breath is coming fast and shallow, all his fight or flight instincts are screaming at him, but he won’t give into it. You can’t be a good pilot if you panic, and he is a good pilot, he is the best pilot, he isn’t going to panic. He isn’t, he isn’t, he won’t give Hux the satisfaction - _this is what he wants, this is what does it for him, don’t let him smell fear_.

He goes limp against the arms holding him down. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say when he opens his mouth, but what comes out is:

“Ok then! I didn’t think I was your type, but I can get with it,” he can hear Hux breathing hard in his ear, and the hiss of air through the troopers’ masks in front of him. The moment seems to stretch out for an eternity. “I gotta tell you, handcuffs aren’t usually my thing – and I’m really good with my hands, so you’d be missing out – but I’m open minded if it’s _your_ thing. I think we need a safeword though, mine’s - ”

He doesn’t get to finish, because Hux grabs him by the hair and slams his head down against the table surface so hard he sees stars.

 

The relief when Hux lets go leaves him weak. Poe lies still and feels air cool on his back as Hux steps away.

“Gag him and find somewhere to put him where I don’t have to look at him,” Hux spits, and that is just fine by Poe.

 

 

At least, it is for the first hour or so.

After that, everything starts to hurt. Without his jacket the cold is worse: he can feel sore muscles stiffening, and the binders are so tight his fingers go numb. It doesn’t feel like they will do permanent damage just yet, but his left wrist is raw where he’d worked it half-way free and blood is seeping slowly down his shirt sleeve. His mouth is dry and his lip stings against the gag. He’s tried to work it off, but it won’t give.

The worst part is not knowing what’s going on.

This could all be a set up. Maybe Hux really wants Ren out of the way and maybe he doesn’t: maybe he’s just doing this so General Organa will call for help and he can pick them off too. Maybe the only reason Poe is still alive is so they can rake through his mind in excruciating detail and kill him slowly.

Maybe Ren will come and General Organa will realise she can do more good taking him out than coming back here for Poe. He said he couldn’t call it, and he really can’t, but the longer he sits here, the more likely it seems that she’ll go after Ren. She _ought_ to go after Ren. Poe knows Leia Organa is a General who cares deeply about the people she commands. In an abstract sort of way, he even knows that she cares more about him in particular than many of the others. That’s not vanity, or ego, it’s just the way things are - she flew with his mother, and he’s important to her. But he also knows that a General has to make decisions for the whole of the Resistance. Just like she can’t treat Kylo Ren as her son any more, she can’t put recovering one pilot above the needs of the Resistance. She might care for him, she might mourn him if they kill him, but she can’t sacrifice a potentially huge strategic advantage for him.

He wouldn’t ask her to.

 


	4. Leia

Leia doesn’t want to bring Luke or Rey into this, but she wants even less to call for reinforcements from D’Qar that could all be wiped out in minutes.

If Ben is really coming here, she needs Jedi. If it is all a trap, she needs to minimise the casualties. Luke and Rey and the fastest ship in the galaxy are the smart choice.

She still has a feeling like she’s walking into a trap.

 

Even the Millennium Falcon will take two hours to reach them, and Leia and Finn spend the time repairing what they can of their ship. Leia has the feeling Finn is even more aware of the empty pilot’s seat than she is. He follows her instructions almost silently: she hadn’t realised how accustomed she had grown to the low back-and-forth between him and Poe until it isn’t there any more.

Poe’s not here to put him at ease, and much as he has sworn his loyalty to the Resistance and to Leia herself, she can tell it’s more personal than that to him. He understands the abstract dimension of it, but that isn’t what motivates him. If Poe doesn’t come back from this, she isn’t even sure he’ll stick around. Maybe for Rey he would, if she asked him to. Maybe, if the circumstances were different, for Leia herself.

But not like this, when she has permitted Poe to give himself up like a bargaining chip. It was the best of all their bad options, but even so. Leia feels her back twinge as she finishes soldering the wires under the navigation panel, and thinks, _I wouldn’t stick around for me right now either._

Maybe she was never as good at inspiring loyalty as people said. Maybe they were all just judging her on Han Solo, and if she is really honest with herself, loyalty to the cause isn’t exactly how she would have described his reasons for fighting either. But then she never really asked.

 

The soldering tool slips and glances off her thumb before she catches the handle again. When she flinches at the burn, she hits her head on the top of the panel and all the frustration of their position comes out in the cry that escapes her.

She feels rather than sees Finn drop down beside her.

“Sir? Sir, are you alright? What happened?” She can’t tell if it’s alarm or concern she hears in his voice.

Whichever one it is, she is already embarrassed at her brief loss of control in front of him. He’s so young and she is the General: he’s here as part of her diplomatic _entourage,_ so that she can make a good impression. At the very least, she owes him composure.

It seems a poor offer in exchange for his loyalty and the friend who kissed him goodbye because they’d already missed their chance.

As she rolls awkwardly out from under the panel, she finds Finn with hand outstretched, ready to help her to her feet.

 

“Are you alright, sir?” he asks, as she lets him pull her up by her good hand.

She scowls at the burn on her thumb. It is laughably minor, but it _hurts_. Oh, she is ridiculous, yelling and frightening the child over this! He is still holding her elbow, as if he thinks she might be really hurt and actually cares.

“Thank you Finn, I’m fine,” she tells him, showing him the burn. “I burned my thumb and hit my head and now I feel like a fool, that’s all.”

His shoulders slump in relief and he drops his hand from her arm.

“Sorry. I’m a bit on edge. I thought - I don’t really know what I thought, actually. Sorry, sir. I’ll get the med kit.”

The pilot’s seat is closer but Leia takes another step to sit in the co-pilot seat. Finn hesitates for a second with the med kit and flashes her a glance as if he knows why she’s sitting where she’s sitting.

He doesn’t sit there either: he stays on his feet and Leia holds her hand up for him to press a burn pad to her thumb.

“Finn,” she says when he’s done, getting to her feet and trying to project _confidence_ and _resolve_ and all those qualities a very young man needs in a commanding officer. “You and I cannot get this ship in the air again. We’ve done our best, and now we’re going to go outside and come up with a better plan than _burn ourselves on the wiring._ ”

It almost restores her faith in her own leadership when Finn actually comes up with one.

 

***

 

By the time Rey hails them from the Falcon, Finn and Leia have the whole tribe on their side.

This time she has not conducted diplomacy as the legendary General Organa, formerly known as Princess Leia, dressed in formal robes of state and flanked by young men in uniform.

Her formal robe of state trips her as she walks, and she has changed it for a spare flight jacket. She has just one young man in uniform left, and _flanking_ seems like the wrong word at this point. It describes a person’s position in relation to another, more important person: flanking is not the service she wants from Finn now. They walk side by side, partners in desperation, and the Tzitari listen to both of them in turn.

 

They listen as Leia tells them who these men who have occupied their settlement and burned their crops and scattered their animals are. They murmur and nod when she tells them of the Starkiller and the destruction it wrought.

They are no Jedi, but Leia can feel the Force running like a thread among the tribe, and from them to her. They can’t read what is in her mind, but they can sense that what she is telling them is true.

They take in her drawn face, the way Finn’s voice shakes just once when he says:

“They’ve taken our friend. He gave himself up for us, and we can’t leave him. Will you help us?”

Their leader is a woman around Leia’s age. Her Basic is strange but perfectly comprehensible when she steps forward, hands held out to Leia.

“We will help you,” she agrees. “My children will help you.”

 

Leia can only assume this is her word for the people she leads, but oh, she feels the sting anyway.

In her 30 years of fighting and negotiating, Leia has learned the value of a pause and a deep breath to steady yourself. You might feel like you’re going to fall apart and everybody can see it, that you need to speak at once or be thought weak and hesitant. But now she knows that you _can_ take a moment before you reply, and people will just think you are choosing your words with care.

When she turns to Finn, that is exactly what she is doing. She allows herself her pause. She doesn’t address him by rank, and with _my children will help you_ ringing in her ears, she isn’t feeling very much like a General. It will come back, but just for a moment she supposes it doesn’t matter if she speaks to him in quite another tone.

“Finn, will you explain what you want them to do?” is all she says, but from the way he looks at her, he knows what she means.

 

***

 

So when the Falcon lands and Rey launches herself down the still-lowering ramp into Finn’s arms, and her brother appears with an indulgent smile and his godawful beard at the top, Leia is feeling more like herself again.

Luke does not launch himself at her, but he does wrap his arms around her and hold on every bit as tight as she does. She doesn’t have to provide confidence or resolve around him, and strangely enough not _having_ to makes it easier to do it. Chewie follows him down, yelling his enthusiasm and pounding Finn on the back in greeting.

 

“I’m sorry to have interrupted your training,” she says when they let each other go. “But I’m not giving up my pilot without a fight.”

“Of course not,” he agrees. “But please tell me the plan doesn’t involve you and me charging in to rescue him, because we had a very mixed record on that even when we were in our 20s and I don’t think I’ve necessarily improved since.”

“Oh, we muddled through,” she smiles. “But no, this time we are relying on General Hux to come to the wrong conclusion about my priorities, the heavily armed Tzitari taking revenge, and some strategically placed explosives. How does that sound?”

“Like you _have_ improved since,” he says, eyebrows raised.

“Well I’ve had practice, but most of the credit lies with Finn, actually - have you met Finn?” Leia says, turning to where he stands with Rey’s hands in his.

“No, but Chewie and Rey have given me a thorough and glowing character reference so I’m prepared to put my faith in this plan of his.”

 

Finn looks down at his feet to hide a grin, and Rey elbows him cheerfully in the ribs.

 

“But I have to ask: do we have any way of knowing if your pilot is still alive?”

It must be Leia’s face that tips Luke off because he isn’t looking at Finn. “I’m sorry,” he says. “They’re important to you, who is it?”

“You remember Shara Bey? And Kes Dameron? It’s their son, Poe. If there had been any other way - ”

“I know, you wouldn’t have let him go. Of course I remember them. And him. I knew him when he was a little boy,” he says with a sad smile.

Rey seems to already know all about Poe Dameron as Finn appeals to her.

“Can’t you tell? You can’t - sense him, or something?”

She frowns and shakes her head. “I don’t know him well enough. If it was you, maybe I could, but…”

Leia turns to Luke.

“What about you? If there’s any way to be sure before we blaze in there and risk more lives, we should take it.”

He frowns, curiously like the expression Rey just made. A Jedi thing, perhaps.

“If you can help me. I’ll be looking for a five year old, but if you can focus on the man you know, I ought to be able to find him.”

 

Leia hasn’t consciously used the Force for years. She had trained, a little, but then leadership and motherhood and politics got in the way. It was there, like a warmth at the back of her mind, that she felt on the edge of sleep and otherwise didn’t think about. And then when Ben... when Ben _turned_ , she pulled a shroud over that warmth and wouldn’t look at it.

She had seen what it could do, and she wanted no part of it.

 

Luke just watches her, expressionless. They have never spoken of it, but he knows what she’s thinking.

 

“Could I do it instead?” Finn offers. “I know him, uh, quite well, I guess.”

It doesn’t really show on his skin, but Leia is pretty sure he’s blushing. She saw Poe kiss him, after all.

Luke smiles and sighs. “We could try, but I don’t think so. It’s more that I don’t know _you_ yet, and I won’t know what to catch on to. We’d be coming from very different places about Poe, whereas Leia and I at least share a context.”

Leia doesn’t entirely follow his reasoning but Finn seems to accept it. His face is tight and miserable as he nods.

 

“Leia?” Luke asks.

“Yes. Alright,” she says.

 

When she feels Luke fan the embers at the back of her mind, it’s like centuries have passed in a heartbeat. Her twin has always been there, all her life, even before she knew he existed or who he was to her, and yet she hasn’t seen him for an eternity.

At first it’s just a sharp awareness of _him_ , of Luke, of everything she knows and shares with him and all they have lived through together.

When he focuses on the past and Poe, it’s like a very pure light is shining on her memories as she sees them alongside what he remembers: Shara Bey who is long dead; a forest world. There’s one tree in particular, and there is Poe Dameron at five years old: a child with dark curls and big brown eyes, all curiosity and adventure and affection. Sitting in his mother’s lap, flinging his arms around Luke, wanting to know _everything_ about the Force, the Jedi, about flying, about the Rebellion, about _her_. Luke shows her that in particular, without jealousy, this kid asking him endless questions about Princess Leia - _are you really her brother, can she come too next time?_ Sure, the Jedi were exciting, but the Princess was the person he _really_ wanted to know about.

Yes, she thinks, of course this is who Poe used to be: before he joined her in the Resistance she’d only met him once, when he was very small - a bright, beloved child. She can feel Luke smile; a smile like sitting in sunshine, like a hand stroking her hair; but before she can lead him to the young man she knows, his easy charm and devotion, Luke is remembering someone else. He can’t help it.

 

A different little boy with dark curls, and oh, she knows who it is, of course she knows who it is. She can feel the weight of him in her arms - or is this Luke’s memory? It doesn’t matter, they have both held Ben, soothed him in the night, felt the trust of his child’s arms wrapped around their neck, whispered into his hair and kissed the top of his head as he fell asleep. That child they both loved, just like his father did, and who doesn’t exist any more. Luke’s grief lives here, a palpable thing like bindweed, putting out the light and dragging him down somewhere cold.

Leia isn’t a Jedi and she doesn’t know how to reach her brother in this except to let it flow through her. That child is gone; he grew up and he’s gone, and he can come to her but she can’t go to him and neither can Luke. So she offers him the tangle of her most recent memories of the person they _can_ save: of Poe on his damn knees begging her not to go; the desperate kiss he gave to Finn; and further back, before they left on this mission. The droid that follows him round the base; Rapier squadron who think it’s hilarious Finn wears his jacket and yet there is still nothing going on between the two of them, the new recruits who always turn to him when they’re homesick.

He has so much to go back to, and that’s only what his commanding officer knows.

But it’s enough, because Luke has him: she wouldn’t have felt it alone, but with Luke she can. An awareness of someone’s presence that she has only ever felt with Luke, and Ben. But this time it’s Poe Dameron she senses, Poe who she has come to rely on, to fly and to advise and to talk to. His usual optimism is muted under an ashy feeling like resignation that curdles with hope, and fear; and a low thread of pain, but he is alive. Unmistakably, he is alive.

 

When she opens her eyes, Finn and Rey and Chewie are kneeling beside where she and Luke are sitting on the grass, and she knows she has been crying. It’s obvious what they must think.

“He’s alive,” she says at once, not to prolong their misery, and she wishes this was the news she could always bring, that she had the power to make all the pilots someone loves stay alive.

Finn whoops, a bright, happy sound and Rey leans across their little circle to fling her arms around his neck.

“I told you!” she cries. “It’s meant to be, alright? You didn’t rescue him from them before just for them to finish the job now!”

“You did tell me,” he agrees, beaming. “I’ll never doubt you again!”

 

Luke’s face is wet when he looks at her.

“Leia,” he begins, and she already knows what he’s going to say. Even if she hadn’t just shared his memories, she would know because she knows Luke Skywalker. She knows him like her right hand, like her heart and her honour. Her brother, who would never leave anybody behind. “Leia, can’t we get Ben too?”

Chewie howls, whether in agreement or dissent she can’t tell. Distantly, she is aware of Rey and Finn turning to them, of the horror on both their faces.

“There is still good in him,” Luke says. His voice cracks. “Rey, I am not excusing anything he has done, not to you or anybody else, but nobody is beyond redemption. Nobody.”

Rey is very fierce and very serious as she shakes her head. It’s not an argument, or an answer: Leia can see her struggling to reconcile her trust in Luke with what her own senses tell her about Ben.

But Leia spares her from having to answer.

“And what will we do with Ben, if we get him? Will we lock him away until he loves us again? Luke? What would you have me do with him, when he would kill his father rather than come back to us?”

She wishes she hadn’t said it the moment the words pass her lips.

Luke closes his eyes, and then he nods.

 

He moves like an old man when he gets up; he lets Chewie help him, brushes dry grass from his clothes. Leia rises too, waiting for him to say something. Anything. To argue or agree.

“You’re right,” he says at last, and Rey lets out a deep breath. “We have to focus on one person at a time. Finn, tell us what we need to do.”

Finn steps forward.

“We’re gonna need some explosives that will show up on a ship scan, and someone who can use the Force to plant them without being seen…” he begins.

 

***

 

They are in the planet’s upper atmosphere, as ready as they’ll ever be, when their sensors pick him up: a single ship, easy to take out, just as Hux has promised. Leia knows who is on board as sure as she knows her own name. Luke and Rey must know it too, and even if Finn can’t use the Force to tell him, the way the three of them react is surely all the information he needs.

It’s an elegant, top-of-the range ship, built for speed and manoeuverability rather than fire-power, with strange markings that must be those of the Knights of Ren. Thick cloud obscures the details and helps conceal them from him, but if they stay on this course he is bound to see them.

He won’t be expecting them, but he’ll recognise this ship.

“Stay high,”Leia murmurs and Luke nods.

 

She jumps when the instrument panel beeps at them: Rey leans in, frowns at the flow of numbers.

Then she freezes. “It’s the shield override code. Hux is sending us his override code: he’s a sitting target.”

Luke doesn’t look away from where the small ship is passing in front of them, as if transfixed by this proximity to his nephew for the first time in 15 years.

Leia is doing exactly the same, but in her peripheral vision she is aware of the young people turning to her, looking for an answer to a question nobody has to speak out loud. Finally she drags her gaze aware from the starfield to look at them. Finn’s face is lit up by the control panel, everything he is feeling written all over it. Rey stands in shadow at his side, mouth slightly open as if already protesting.

Even now, they’re afraid she’s going to order them to leave their friend and go after Ben, she realises. It stings, but in a way she’s glad: they are so young, they _shouldn’t_ give their absolute trust to anybody yet. Not until it’s earned a hundred times over. Dameron might be here because he believes in the politics, but for these two it is the pure and undiluted personal. There is no numbers game to play in their eyes, there is no loss that is affordable.

They’re wrong, of course, but she hopes it will be years and years before she has to be the person to prove it to them.

Leia doesn’t even answer directly. She puts her hand on Finn’s shoulder and says,

“Put me through to Hux, please.”

He opens the channel as she holds in her mind the image of her son the last time she saw him, and deliberately pushes it away.

 


	5. Poe

 

On the planet’s surface, Phasma touches the panel to receive an incoming communication. A woman’s voice comes through the speakers, distorted so that for a second Poe doesn’t even recognise her until she says her name. Perhaps it’s the speakers that make her sound harder, more martial than he has ever known, as she says:

“I am General Leia Organa of the Resistance Forces approaching on an attack vector: you have someone who belongs to me.”

Hux shouts, “Lord Ren isn’t even _here_ , I sent you the code! You can shoot him down, board the ship, do whatever you like with him – he’s defenceless!”

Poe clenches his fists and digs his nails into his palms: his wrists are raw and he is trying not to pull against the shackles but he can’t _bear_ just standing here.

“Who’s talking about Ben? I’m here for Commander Poe Dameron, and if you don’t return him to me alive and in the _exact_ condition you received him I will detonate the bombs we have placed on your ships and let the Tzitari butcher you, do I make myself clear?”

It takes him a second to process what he has just heard.

That Leia isn’t taking the bait. She really is letting Kylo Ren fly right by her nose and coming back here, for him. His heart thumps in a shocking pulse of hope almost more painful than the grey acceptance of his fate he’s been fighting all day. There might actually be a way out, Leia wouldn’t say it if she didn’t mean it: the whole life he stepped away from only a day ago might still be his if he can just stay alive until she gets here. He wheels around, opens his mouth to say something, he doesn’t even know what, but it’ll be something like _guess I’ll be going then, thanks for having me it’s been a blast. Next time you want to play prisoner and jailer you gimme a call, ok? We’ll work something out._

That’s when Hux punches him in the face.

 

He goes down hard, head spinning and all the breath is knocked out of him when he lands. With his hands fastened in front of him he can’t do anything to break his fall, and when his head hits the stone floor he sees stars. Stars are nice, he thinks hazily. He knows what to do with a view of stars.

Poe is only dimly aware of shouting, and people running, and someone yanking him up by the collar so hard he feels his shirt start to rip.

A voice that is probably Hux is yelling, “Report! Report!” and another voice replies, “Confirmed, sir; three devices on each ship and the Tzitari are approaching from the industrial sector; recommend tactical retreat at this time, sir.”

It’s all he can do to keep his feet under him, and for a moment he can’t even manage that and is dragged along. The other person is frighteningly strong: the pace doesn’t slow, not even with Poe a dead weight. Phasma, he thinks distantly. Then his arms are pulled up above his head with a sound of metal connecting to metal, and his boots skid on the floor until at last he gets his feet under him and can balance on his tiptoes. The position is already painful, and he tastes blood in his mouth.

Everything swirls around him when he cracks his eyes open.

It is Phasma. She pulls off her helmet and leans in close. He instinctively tries to back away, but his arms are stretched so high he can’t move. All he can do is tip his head back to meet her eyes. He hopes it looks defiant, but the chances are pretty good it just looks pathetic.

“You can tell FN-2187 that there is nowhere he can run that I won’t find him and hunt him down like the coward he is,” she says, low and intense. “And then I’m going to kill him in front of you.”

“Ah, you’re just jealous he likes me more than you,” he says without stopping to think if it’s really a good idea to carry on provoking her.

And it isn’t.

She yanks his head back by the hair and knees him viciously in the stomach before she turns to leave, and her footsteps echo so loudly on the stone floor that it feels like they’re inside his head.

 

Time passes strangely after that.

He hears blaster fire, and shouting in the distance and tries to concentrate on it, work out what’s happening, but everything seems to speed up and the room goes blurry and he probably passes out.

The sounds are the same only closer the next time he’s aware of anything, so he doesn’t think he was out for long. His arms are agony after taking his full weight even for those few minutes, and he can feel his shirt cuffs growing damp with blood. If he goes right up on tiptoes the relief to his stretched shoulders and biceps is barely noticeable, and anyway he can’t hold it for long. That’s when everything seems to slow down: the few seconds he balances are an eternity, planets form and stars die and his arms never stop hurting.

Something is happening around him but all he can think about is the pain: he wants so badly to survive this, to apologise to Finn for kissing him, to Leia that they couldn’t bring her son home. He wants to fly again, to teach Finn to swim, to see what a Jedi knight looks like when that Jedi is Rey. All he has to do is hold on, stay alive until someone gets here because General Organa said she was coming for him so she is, he believes it, he’s got to believe it otherwise this pain is for nothing and that can’t be true, he won’t _let_ it be true. The universe he lives in doesn’t have room for pain without meaning.

 

There are running footsteps somewhere behind him and he can’t turn to look.

Then blaster fire.

Footsteps, louder and closer, and then a female voice calls, “Finn! This way!” and it’s Rey, it’s Rey, he can’t see her yet but he calls out “Rey! Here!” and a second later she appears, in front of him now by some kind of magic.

He face contorts in anger when she recognises him. “He’s here!” she shouts, and Finn is there too, running towards him as Rey raises her hand and the shackles open and Poe collapses right into Finn’s arms.

 

As the blood rushes back to his hands the pain is almost worse, and he knows he would have fallen if Finn wasn’t holding him up. But Finn’s arms are tight around him, and Poe doesn’t care if it’s a hug or because he looks like he can’t stand up, he’ll take either.

“Poe, talk to me, Poe, are you ok? Are you hurt? Oh god Rey, he’s bleeding – Poe, what happened to you -”

He feels Rey’s hand smooth back his hair before her fingers are at his wrists, rolling the sleeves away sticky with blood so she can see the damage.

“It’s ok, don’t worry, it’s not deep,” she says. “Poe? Can you walk? We can help you.”

Poe rests his head on Finn’s shoulder and lets their concern wash over him for a blissful second before he manages, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Finn murmurs into his hair, squeezing him tighter.

“Yeah,” Poe smiles. “You wanna have dinner with me instead? I’m hungry. Did you know they don’t feed prisoners in the First Order? Can you believe that?”

“Yeah. I’ll have dinner with you. Whatever you want. But not here, ok, hotshot? The general’s waiting for you,” Finn agrees. Poe can hear the answering smile in his voice even before he raises his head to see it. He has a feeling Finn will agree to anything he says right now.

 


	6. Finn

 

At first he sits behind Rey in the cockpit. Chewie is in the seat he thought of as his, and Luke Skywalker is humming to himself in the galley kitchen, preparing something that sends aromatic steam drifting through the ship.

Poe has been in with General Organa since they jumped to hyperspace an hour ago. She had been waiting for them at the top of the ramp when they reached the ship, and come down to meet them half way, pulling Poe into a fierce hug. Exhausted as he was, from anyone bigger it might have knocked him off his feet. But he just grunted at the impact and kept his balance, wrapping his arms around her to lift her off the ground for a second. Finn wasn’t as surprised as he would have been a day ago to see the General plant one fierce kiss on his temple before he set her down. She held him at arm’s length, one step above him on the ramp, examining him for damage.

“I’m fine, sir,” he’d said, beaming at her. “Honestly.”

“You’d better be,” she said, “Otherwise I’ll have to go after them.”

But she noticed his bleeding wrists, of course, and had taken him firmly away as Finn and Rey prepared for takeoff.

 

Finn isn’t sure how long ago that was now, but it feels like a long time. He has nothing to do, and his thoughts seem to be stuck in a loop that runs between Poe kissing him yesterday and collapsing into his arms with a dead weight of trust earlier.

“What are they _doing_?” he asks, leaning in over Rey’s shoulder.

“Running away,” she says with a satisfied sigh, leaning back and twisting her head around to look at him.

“No, not them – Poe and the General!”

Rey shrugs.

“Well I don’t know: she said she was supervising the med droid and getting his report, so that, probably?”

Then she turns properly in the seat to look at him, and whatever she reads on his face explains everything.

“Oh. Oh! Sorry, I’ll – I’ll just - ” and she is touching a switch to say, “General Organa? Finn wants to know if he’s ok,” before Finn can protest.

General Organa’s sigh is the first thing he hears. “Yes, well, Poe keeps asking for him too so I suppose the rest of this can wait.”

 

The door on the Falcon’s tiny sleeping cabin opens to let General Organa through, and she waits until it closes behind her to say, “Physically he’s basically fine, Finn, but I think he needs a friend right now. I trust you can take it from here?”

“Yes. I can, I can definitely take it from here,” he tells her earnestly.

 

Poe is sitting on the bunk in his undershirt, and he looks up the second Finn steps in. His cheekbone is red with a bruise that is starting to swell, and either the General or the med droid has bandaged the raw skin on his wrists until they can apply bacta.

He is whole and alive and Finn wants to say something casual but he _can’t._ He doesn’t have anything casual left.

Instead he lets himself drop down to sit next to Poe and puts his hand right next to Poe’s on the bunk. For a second they both look down at their two hands almost touching, at the olive green of Finn’s sleeve and the white of Poe’s bandage.

 

Poe is the first to speak.

“Hey look,” he says. “About before - I’m really sorry about - you know. That I kissed you like that. I got carried away with that whole hero thing, the being melodramatic. It’s a character flaw, I’m working on it.”

Finn nudges Poe’s foot with his own.

“That’s ok. You know it’s ok.”

Poe tilts his head to look at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really. I - ” Finn moves just his little finger and all he does is run his fingertip once down Poe’s little finger and then back up. Poe shudders and takes a great ragged breath.

He says very quietly, “We probably should, uh, talk about, something, but honestly, buddy, I have had such a day. I feel like I’ve aged 10 years, you know?”

“Well you look great. You look very – alive.”

He doesn’t mean to, or perhaps he does, but his hand seems to decide by itself to move up Poe’s bare arm, to squeeze his shoulder and then drag his palm down to grip his bicep. He doesn’t think he’s pulling, but maybe Poe thinks he ought to be because he half turns and leans forward and Finn barely has to move to pull him into his arms.

Poe relaxes against him completely. He loops his arms around Finn’s waist and breathes into his neck.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Thanks for rescuing me again. I owe you.”

“No you don’t,” Finn tells him. There is something overwhelming building somewhere inside him; he can feel it pressing against his ribs. He shifts to let Poe get closer to him, puts his arms around him in turn. Through his undershirt his skin is very warm against Finn’s hands. Finn can feel his heartbeat.

He can’t remember the last time he held another human being like this, so powerfully aware of life and breath and the aching vulnerability of it. One blaster shot and it’s all gone, no bringing it back. All the damage that people can do to each other swirls through his head, and somehow it didn’t happen.

Poe is leaning into him, relaxed and trusting, and he can’t help himself.

His first kiss lands in Poe’s hair; the second on his ear. Poe shivers and sighs and Finn feels his breath even through the uniform collar.

The third kiss he places very gently on Poe’s temple, just like the General did, and the fourth on his cheek. Poe lifts his head and his eyes are both very dark and very bright at the same time. He licks his lips and the look he gives Finn is all raw sincerity: there’s no hotshot pilot there right now, there’s just his friend who kissed him goodbye and has probably spent all day thinking he’s going to die.

Finn wants to say something, some word of comfort that will soothe this away, but he has nothing.

All he can do is lean forward to press his forehead against Poe’s, feel Poe’s breath on his face before Finn closes the gap between them and kisses him.

His eyes sting at the soft needy sound Poe makes, the way he opens up completely and kisses like a sigh.

Finn can taste blood. When he pulls back Poe loops an arm around his neck to keep him where he is and Finn just gives into it, kissing him again. Soft at first but then deepening as Poe kisses back like he’s falling apart.

He only pauses to scoot back on the bunk, and Finn follows him out of instinct, gives in at once when Poe lies back and pulls him down with him. He covers Poe’s body with his own, kissing him until he’s dizzy with it, letting his hand stroke up the soft skin of Poe’s ribs and feeling him shudder.

He pushes up to let Poe unbutton his jacket, shrugging it off to the floor before he comes back down, gasps at the warmth of their bodies together, the feel of Poe strong and alive under him.

He knows he should be careful, that this is something that needs to be taken slowly and cautiously, but it’s too late for that. He’s lost in it, in Poe moving against him, his deep drugging kisses. In the way he can push Poe’s undershirt up and out of the way to drag his tongue against his nipples and feel him tremble, hear his breath catch when he uses his teeth.

Poe’s thigh is perfect between his legs, delicious pressure for him to thrust against. If he let himself, he feels like he could go over just from this, rub off against Poe so warm and pliant under him.

If he had spent the day like Poe has, at the mercy of his enemies and in binders that have left him bleeding, he isn’t sure this is what he would want. To have another, heavier, person on top of him, be held down.

“Poe, are you -” he starts to ask, not even sure what his question is. Poe hooks his leg over Finn’s and presses up against him. He’s already hard; Finn can feel him. It sends a thrill chasing down his spine, makes him want to _take_ when he should be offering.

Breathless, he forces himself to ask, “Poe, you really want to do this here? You don’t want to - oh, yeah, that’s - wait till we get back, do it properly…”

“No,” Poe says. “No, now. Finn, now, I want - ” he’s rubbing against Finn’s thigh just as desperately as Finn has been moving against him, eyes half-closed in pleasure. His long lashes cast a shadow all down his cheekbone that merges with the bruise rising there.

Finn braces himself just out of reach of the terrible distraction of Poe under him.

“No, listen,” he manages. “I just -”

Poe blinks up at him, heavy lidded and battered and so beautiful Finn doesn’t know what to do. He is paralysed by tenderness.

“Hi, Finn,” Poe says softly. And then he smiles. A slow, private smile just for Finn that seems to promise him the world. “What do you just? ‘Cause I’d really like to do this now. So if you want to, and I want to…”

Poe’s hands are undoing his belt, fumbling at the button on his uniform pants.

So he moves back, kneels between Poe’s spread legs to open his pants in turn, kisses down his stomach so that Poe will know what he intends, can still stop him.

Poe doesn’t stop him.

Poe is breathing fast and shallow, hands never still on Finn’s shoulders, stroking the back of his neck and through his hair like touching Finn is bringing him pleasure.

When Finn takes his cock into his mouth he gasps and arches up before he catches himself. He’s trembling.

Finn lifts his head to say, “Yeah, go on,” and Poe groans when he takes the whole hot length of him right to the back of his throat. One hand drops away from Finn’s shoulder to cover his face as his chest heaves.

Finn is overwhelmed with love for him, for his necessary bravery as he walked away yesterday and his utter vulnerability now. He wants to say, _I won’t let you do that again_ , he wants to say, _I will come back for you every time_ , but he can’t. You mustn’t make promises you can’t keep, and if he had to watch Poe give himself up once, then who is he to promise it won’t happen again?

All you ever have is right now, and so right now he won’t speak, he won’t say anything with words. He’ll just let his mouth go soft and relax his throat, take that vulnerability Poe is offering him and try to say everything with his body until Poe’s hand tightens on his shoulder and he jerks with a moan that is halfway to a sob, and comes.

 

Poe’s eyes are wet when he lets his arm drop away from his face. Finn can feel him trembling still.

“C’mere,” Poe mutters, pulling at his shirt, and Finn goes, letting his whole weight come down on Poe again, letting Poe kiss the taste of himself out of his mouth. He’s right on the edge himself, orgasm building and building as Poe coaxes him to move against him, thrust against the silken skin of his stomach.

When Poe reaches a hand between them to close it around his erection, it’s enough to tip him over the edge, panting and gasping as pleasure shoots through him, so intense it almost hurts.

 

All the strength seeps out of him in the aftermath, and he is dimly aware he must be crushing Poe.

Poe doesn’t seem to mind. His hands are stroking up and down Finn’s back, one on top of his shirt rubbing between his shoulderblades and the other tucked inside just above his waist. It feels very grounding, actually. He breathes into Poe’s hair, and kisses where he can reach. Where he can reach is mostly Poe’s ear, and Poe’s huff of almost-laughter makes it seem like the best place Finn could possibly kiss him.

 


	7. Leia

 

Every few minutes Rey looks over her shoulder like she’s expecting Finn and Poe Dameron to come out, but they don’t and they don’t and they don’t.

Leia exchanges a look with Luke and says nothing. That familiar awareness of her brother is there in the corner of her mind, their shared understanding that now would not be a good time to knock on the door and ask if either of her entourage wants caf.

And more than that: Luke knows what this ship has been to Leia. Like a home that always comes with you, she has lived here. It has carried her for thirty years, as princess, rebel, disillusioned Republican, and now as General. And the private moments too, when she wasn’t fighting, or giving orders or negotiating. It doesn’t feel like there have been very many of those, but when she sits here with Luke beside her, she remembers some.

Han Solo put a kitchen in this ship, and when she was pregnant with Ben and the smell of food turned her stomach, he would close the doors and come out with tiny portions of something cold that she could eat before her nose knew she was doing it. Knowing what went into it would have defeated the point so she never asked: something that tasted of mint.

Later he learned to make tiny spiced sweetmeats, taught Ben to make them too. Leia pretended she couldn’t tell who had made which, but of course Ben’s six-year-old hands created fat, oddly shaped splodges besides his father’s circles. And every time she bit into one of Ben’s creations, she would close her eyes and say, “Mmm, this is the best one yet. Who made this one?”

Han would shrug, wait for the explosion of joy that was Ben realising it was one of his, that _his_ were the best.

 

And now, the door hisses open and the three of them turn to greet Finn and Poe. Poe hasn’t put his bloody shirt back on and is playing the conquering hero in his undershirt with a blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape. His eyes are tired and the bruises on his face actually look worse than they did even an hour ago, but he’s smiling and every line of his body is loose and relaxed.

Rey and Luke both get up, Rey to clear the bench seat for them and Luke to the kitchen. He returns with thermo bowls of something that smells _delicious_ , and Leia watches the young people eat like they’ve never had a meal before in their lives.

“What’s in this one?” Rey asks, her mouth full, and Luke reels off a list of ingredients only half of which Leia has even heard of. Clearly cooking is one of the things to which he devoted his time in self-imposed exile. It doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, but when she tries to imagine herself cooking on an island her imagination balks at the very thought of it. One chef in the family will have to do.

He clears everything away afterwards and comes to sit back with Leia while Poe stretches out on the seat, head in Finn’s lap. If Leia had been in any doubt before if Poe’s kiss had been welcome, this casual display of intimacy is enough to settle it.

Poe looks like he’s about to fall asleep, but when Rey comes to sit down he lifts his feet to let her in and puts them right back down on top of her. She smiles at him and pats his ankle like he’s a favourite pet.

“Phasma says hi,” Poe tells Finn though a yawn. “Says the place hasn’t been the same since you left.”

“She threatened to kill me, didn’t she?”

“Well, yeah, those may have been her _actual_ words, but I could read between the lines. She misses you, I could tell. I told her the thing about vacation time, how we were gonna go on a trip, but she just got jealous and hit me, so…”

Finn sinks his fingers into Poe’s hair and gives his head a little shake. Poe closes his eyes and grins, stretching out like a cat, settling his feet more comfortably on top of Rey.

If Leia felt like pulling rank, she would tell him to get his feet off the furniture and sit up properly. But she doesn’t remotely want to play the general right now; if she can’t ever shrug off being leader of the Resistance, she can at least relax the military hierarchy and let her favourite pilot sprawl over the Millennium Falcon if he wants to. Han Solo would approve anyway: given the choice between sprawling and parade rest, he would have had his feet up on the dashboard before you’d even finished the question.

Besides, after the day Poe Dameron has had, it’s the least she owes him.

 

“And Hux took my jacket,” Poe continues, “Every time we run into these people I lose clothes.”

“You can have the old one back if you want,” Finn says, smiling down at him.

“Nah, that one’s yours now. And anyway this was a dress uniform - sir, I’m gonna need a new dress uniform,” he calls to Leia. “It was lost in the line of duty.”

She already knows, so this is for the others’ benefit. Poe told her how Hux had the Stormtroopers pull it off him, admitted his own panic pinned face down under the general. Poe thinks Hux’s inclinations are something they might be able to use against him, some day, and Leia is inclined to agree. When he told her about it he was looking at the floor, his face twisted: she hopes turning it into anecdote is a good sign.

“Alright,” she tells him. “We need you nicely turned out for these trips, I suppose the budget can stretch to a new uniform.”

“I asked Hux about that too, what they pay for the fancy outfits, but he got pissy and wouldn’t tell me…”

 

As far as anybody won today it was her, but Leia finds herself repressing a shudder at the thought of what might have happened to Poe, if they had had to leave him. And as always, hard on its heels, the little voice that says, _Ben chose those people who would do such things, Ben is fighting with those people._

She is lost in thought, only half listening to the rest of Poe’s story when she becomes aware of Luke beside her.

“You should come and have some soup too,” he says. “You haven’t eaten. Food nourishes the soul as much as it sustains the body, you know.”

Leia fixes him with a stare.

“You sound like an old Jedi mystic,” she says accusingly.

He puts his hand on his heart and bows. “At your service. And you sound like the military and political leader of the Resistance who is in need of soup. May I?”

Leia sighs. He’s right, of course: introspection will serve nobody. She needs to eat, and rest, and get up tomorrow and sit down with Poe Dameron to plan their next move.

She accepts her brother’s hand, and as he escorts her to the table the hormonal huddle on the bench seat stirs: tangled in his blanket, Poe struggles to sitting as Rey springs up, offering Leia her place. She has been floating fruit around Finn’s head, Leia notices now, as Rey pulls up a stool and perches next to him, whisking it all into a neat pile which he pretends to knock over.

“Enough playing with the food,” Luke chides, coming back in with Chewie in tow carrying steaming thermo bowls, and the two of them beam at him with an unapologetic, “Sorry!”

He mock glares and floats all the fruit back to the kitchen, as if daring them to laugh.

Pressed close up to Finn’s side, Poe seems enchanted with the trick. “Didn’t you do do that when I was a kid, when you brought the tree to our house on Yavin 4?”

Luke shrugs apologetically. “Alas, my repertoire hasn’t expanded in 25 years,” he says solemnly. “I need some new party tricks.”

 

Leia’s never paid much attention to the components of food so she can’t say what is in Luke’s soup, but it seems to have some soothing quality beyond warmth and nutrients. She is _ravenous_ , she realises. She has no energy for talking: all she can do is eat, and wait for the food to do the nourishing and sustaining Luke has promised.

She watches Poe peel an apple with a wickedly sharp knife and lets the conversation flow around her: Luke and Chewie are across the table, their own bowls in front of them, Rey leaning on her elbows. After a while Finn shifts and puts an arm around Poe’s shoulders and Poe seems to sigh and lean into him. Leia catches Rey’s eye without meaning to and they both have to look away to avoid smiling too openly.

It feels like _years_ since she has sat around a table like this, with nothing to do but eat a meal with people she likes. It probably _has_ been years.

 

Into a small lull, Poe begins softly, “Sir, while we’re all here I just wanted to thank you for - ”

Leia puts her spoon down firmly and fixes him with a stare. She absolutely will not hear this, because if he’s thanking her for doing it, it means he thought she didn’t have to, that his survival was _optional_ to her.

“Poe Dameron, if you try to _thank_ me for coming back for you, so help me I will not be responsible for my actions,” she tells him sternly.

He blinks at her, and then gives them all a slow, sleepy smile. Looking at Finn, he continues:

“I wanted to thank you for letting me have such a great opportunity to impress Finn with my heroism, and to kiss him where he wouldn’t turn me down - ”

A chorus of groans cuts him off. “What?” he asks as Finn buries his face in his hands and mutters an incomprehensible complaint.

“You’re welcome,” Leia tells him. “Just like I enjoyed my day of emergency ship repairs and meeting the Tzitari, and Rey enjoyed planting explosives and both of you had a lovely time storming that compound and being equally heroic rescuers. But now everybody’s tired, and you all ought to be in bed.”

She lets her voice go a little stern at the end, brings some of the general into her tone to balance the helpless domesticity of what she is saying.

Rey flicks a sidelong look at Finn then gives Leia a limpid smile.

“I think Finn and Poe ought to take the cabin,” she says, all innocence. “Me and Luke and Chewie have hammocks in the hold, I can make one for you too.”

But Finn and Poe are having none of it: her entourage takes her dignity more seriously than she does herself, it seems. They didn’t know her 30 years ago, when she slept on the floor and kissed scoundrels.

“You can’t make the General sleep in a hammock in the hold!” Poe sounds utterly scandalised. “Sir, you take the cabin, Finn and I will sleep in the hold. Right, Finn?”

“I’m not sure the others want you in the hold with them,” Leia smiles.

“Well they haven’t got any choice,” Poe says firmly. He doesn’t pull rank on them, but even when he’s joking he has a tone people listen to. Leia knows one when she hears it. “I don’t know what kind of rumours people have been spreading about me, but my intentions are honourable and involve _going to sleep_.”

“You, maybe, but what about Finn?” Rey retorts.

“I’m gonna sleep right next to _you_ and snore,” Finn tells her. “Really loudly. All night long.”

There’s a moment where everyone round the table considers picking up _really loudly, all night long_ and running with it, before mercifully deciding to let it lie with muffled sniggers and sidelong looks. Leia could tell them from personal experience that you really can’t do that sort of thing in a hammock anyway, but a General must keep _some_ secrets to herself.

“Go on, all of you,” she says, rising to set the example.

She stops Poe as he passes her, pulls the blanket into place around his shoulders. He holds still and looks earnestly down at her, indulging her; ready for her orders.

She lifts up on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Thank you, Poe,” and when she steps back she sees his eyes are crinkling in pleasure.

She’s not expecting it when he leans in and ducks his head to kiss her on the cheek. She feels his stubble against her skin, the brush of his lips and the somehow familiar smell of his hair, before he straightens to parade rest.

“Oh, today’s your day for kissing everybody, is it Commander Dameron?” Leia asks, holding the edges of his blanket a little tighter. She knows she is smiling: in this moment she feels helplessly, overwhelmingly fond of him, like some of Luke’s memories of that child in the forest have lingered on.

“Probably not _everybody_ ,” he concedes. “They don’t sound like they’re interested - ”

“Chewie, we can put him and Finn behind the emergency bulkhead!” Rey interrupts and Chewie howls his approval, leading the way down the corridor telling her something about the waste disposal panel that is obviously meant to be heard.

“Go on,” Leia says to Finn, gesturing for him to follow them. “ _You_ rescued him, you’ve got to deal with him now.”

He salutes her and grabs a grinning Poe by the shoulders, steering him in Rey and Chewie’s footsteps. Poe looks back at her over his shoulder, and she can’t read the half of what’s on his face but she knows the child Luke is remembering used to smile like this too. Happy, loved; certain of his place in the world.

As they disappear from sight, she hears Finn hiss, “You can’t just kiss the _General!_ What is the _matter_ with you?” and the echo of Poe laughing at him.

 

Luke sighs but doesn’t say anything when Leia comes to find him in the cockpit, gazing out into the starfield before them. She reaches out to touch his hand.

He looks down then, traces the angular stone of her ring with his thumb.

“I remember this, you know,” he says. “Han made me come and look at it before he bought it, so I could tell him if you’d like it.”

“Really? What did you say?”

“I said I had no idea, of course. I was probably the least qualified person in the galaxy he could have asked.”

She can picture them now: Han desperate to get it right but pretending not to care; Luke full of sincerity and with no idea what a sister he hadn’t grown up with might like to wear on her finger. What a question. Oh, Han.

“If you’re coming back to D’Qar with us, I have some things you might like. Of his. Both of -” she pauses, clears her throat. “Both of theirs, actually. We kept them for you.”

She feels a bright flare of pain from Luke as keenly as if it were her own.

“Alright,” he says. His voice is hoarse. “Yes. I’d like that.”

“And will you stay a while? Help us? Help me, I should say.” Because if she doesn’t ask him now, when will she ask him? Even the general needs help. It isn’t weak.

Her twin looks at her. It’s been a long time since he broke into that cell to say, _I’ve come to rescue you._

 

Leia leans her elbows on the dashboard and gazes out too. It’s more comforting to have her brother here than she had expected. To be here in this ship that smells of cooking and home, with someone silently approving her actions.

“Today was hard,” he says after a moment, so low so she has to strain to hear him. “For me, I mean, to know he was there and we couldn’t do anything to reach him. But for you…”

“Yeah,” she murmurs.

Ben used to sit just where Rey had been earlier, in that very spot, floating model X wings to his father while she and his uncle looked on. An eternity ago. Leia doesn’t feel any older, not really, but those children she saw in Luke’s memories tell her she must be. If they’ve grown up into men, what does that make her?

“I’ve never doubted your decisions you know, Leia,” Luke says. He’s still looking straight ahead out the viewport: maybe Jedi eyes see more than she does there. Maybe he’s just looking at the open reach of the galaxy spread out to infinity before them.

“No? I have. Often.”

“Yes, I know. Everyone has to doubt themselves, otherwise we act without thinking. But you were right, today. Strategically right and - humanly right, if I can put it like that,” he gestures behind him to the now-empty room, but of course she knows who he means. “They believe in you, you know.”

“To a certain extent, yes,” she agrees. She remembers their faces, watching her when the shield code came in, waiting to see what she would do.

“As far as anybody could want, I think,” he corrects gently.

“As far as _I_ want, anyway,” Leia concedes. “As far as they ought to, and no further.”

Luke smiles. “Well. That’s quite a long way, I’d say. Have a little faith in their judgement.”

“Oh, I have every faith in their judgement,” she says. “It’s the other side I worry about.”

“Ah, but there’s not very much you can do about the other side, except refuse to take part in their betrayals.”

Luke is looking at her now, but she doesn’t turn away from the stars before her, all that darkness and all that light.

“The people who choose you are the ones you need to protect, I think. But you already know that, don’t you?”

 

Leia nods at the stars. Oh, she already knows that. The life she’s chosen, she knows that.

Luke sits beside her and doesn’t say anything more.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I also have Feelings about Star Wars and grow angry at Oscar Isaac on [Tumblr](http://deputychairman.tumblr.com/): come and join me! Or you could congratulate me for finishing a WIP with PLOT, it was hard, ok?


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